As a little girl I played with dolls behind your back,

Until that one time you caught me and I got smacked. 

You wanted me in school and make friends,

But when I did the new friendship would eventually have to end.  

Criticism is what I get instead of saying "Good Job." 

It feels like you slapped me across my face and it throbs.

I try to show how great I am, but you're always on the phone,

Thanks for the encouragement; it officially blows.

I'm walking towards the door with my suitcase to go,

You scream "This is home."

Walking to the door you threw my doll,

Here comes another brawl. 

I wait until you eat and fall asleep,

Grabbing my suitcase, I try to figure out what I can keep.

By the door, my foot steps on the doll.

I imagine everything you said and I make it fall. 

Keeping the bad memories is like having no memories at all.